Concrete Angel
by OrganizationI
Summary: AU sonfic. Harry is just a 10 year old kid who suffers through abuse from his aunt and uncle. His only escape is a mystical land that's only in his dreams. One-shot.


**Aurthur's Note: This is an AU songfic for Harry Potter. In this his aunt and uncle are a LOT more abusive than they are in the HP cannon, and Hogwarts is just some fantasy he has. I came up with this idea after having this (really sad) song stuck in my head for like the past week or so. It's my first HP fic (one-shot or not) so I would really like some constructive criticism if you can! Also, I had to change some song lyrics to fit Harry's gender.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter OR Concrete Angel! If I did, I would be rich and not wasting my time combining the two. Instead I'd be swimming in chocolate pudding... Don't ask.**

_He walks to school with the lunch he packed  
>Nobody knows what he's holding back<em>

A ten-year-old Harry Potter gripped the brown paper bag that held his lunch tightly as he walked to school. Of course, Dudley had gotten a ride from Uncle Vernon on his way to work, but Harry didn't mind. He was used to it.

The Dursleys never really liked him at all. It had been like that ever since they took him in after his parents died in a car crash. After so many years the dark cupboard he lived in seemed like a sanctuary to him to escape the screams. They all were directed at him, of course. Dudley never did anything wrong. It was Harry's fault for being a freak.

_Wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday  
>He hides the bruises and himself away, oh<em>

He pulled his jacket tighter around himself, not caring that it was boiling hot outside. If people saw the bruises they might start asking questions. If people started poking around about them, his aunt and uncle would be angry with him again. After all, it was his entire fault.

He couldn't tell anyone about how Uncle Vernon came home drunk last night and beat him with an empty beer bottle. If he told they would just hurt him more. It wasn't like it didn't happen every night, anyway. Last night was just a bit more than normal.

After his uncle finally finished, he made the mistake of greeting Aunt Petunia when she came home. He should have noticed how stressed she was. It was his own fault that she held the curling iron to the back of his neck. It burned, but she wouldn't stop when he begged. He needed to be taught a lesson, after all. If they didn't teach him, who would?

_The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask  
>It's hard to see the pain behind the mask<em>

Harry smiled as he did his worksheet. He liked school much better than home. At school, no one hurt him. The teacher had made a comment or two on all the injuries he had, but he always came up with an excuse for her. That's what his aunt and uncle told him to do, and he only wanted to please them. Maybe then they would like him.

After completing the last problem, Harry looked up and let his eyes wander around the room. His eyes fell on a boy with a head of red hair that was fast asleep on a desk and a girl with bushy brown hair and slightly large front teeth beside him. She was poking him with her pencil, trying to wake him up before the teacher noticed. Their names were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They seemed like nice people.

Many times Harry had seen the two playing together after school and had been tempted to try and join them, but decided against it. Why would they want to play with a freak like him?

_Bearing the burden of a secret storm  
>Sometimes he wishes he was never born<em>

They were playing again today, he noted as he sat at the base of a tree. Harry had to walk home, but he liked to say after school as long as he could and watch the other kids as they waited to be picked up.

That specific day Ron's older twin brothers, Fred and George, and his younger sister, Ginny, had joined them. Truthfully, Harry had a little crush on Ginny but he would never say it. He had never even talked to the girl and she'd never like someone as weird as him. Ever.

"Hey, do you want to join us?" the voice of a girl brought him from him thoughts. Standing in front of him was Hermione Granger, and she offered her hand to help him up. "You're Harry, right? You never talk to anyone in class, and you look really lonely, so we thought you might want to play with us."

The smile on her face was sincere, but he ignored the hand and stood up on his own. She would never want to touch him if she knew how strange he was. He couldn't trick her into thinking he was normal. "I'm sorry, but I should get home."

And with that he ran towards home, not wanting to go there but knowing he couldn't take advantage of the other children's kindness. He didn't realize he left his jacket behind, giving Hermione a full view of the large burn on the back of his neck. She gasped and thought about telling someone, but Ron's voice called out. "Come on, Herm! If he doesn't want to play, let him be like that!"

_Through the wind and the rain he stands hard as a stone  
>In a world that he can't rise above<em>

Harry sat alone in his cupboard, hugging his knees to his stomach. He had been able to sneak in there before anyone besides Dudley came home, but it was only a matter of time before someone arrive and realized he was there earlier than usual.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift far away to Hogwarts. It was a place he made up in his head. A school for witches and wizards, and everyone was accepted at the age of eleven. Yes, he knew the name was rather silly but he liked it anyway. In Hogwarts he was good friends Ron and Hermione and they went on lots of adventures together. Also, Ginny paid attention to him. It may seem weird, but once he pretended he saved her life.

_But his dreams give him wings and he flies to a place  
>Where he's loved. Concrete angel<em>

In this little fantasy world Harry created, they didn't hate him. In fact, the whole wizarding world loved him. Ever since that night he turned eleven (Which, of course hadn't happened yet in real life) he had been part of a world of mystical adventures and fun. There was even a sport called Quidditch (Once again, he knew it was a weird name) where they rode flying broomsticks. It didn't require him to be the quickest runner, or the strongest person, so Harry was quite good at it.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the door slammed open. Uncle Vernon was back from the bar tonight. Dudley had already run upstairs, because even though he was never the one to get hurt that didn't mean he enjoyed watching his cousin tortured. Not that Harry didn't deserve it, though. He always did.

The door to the cupboard was yanked open, his large and drunken uncle squinting at him. "What're you looking at, boy?" he spat out the word boy like it was a curse word. Like just acknowledging him made him dirty as well. "Haven' we taught you to mind your manners?" he hiccuped and grabbed a fist-full of Harry's hair, pulling him out into the hall.

_Somebody cries in the middle of the night  
>The neighbors hear but they turn out the light<em>

"I-I am so s-sorry!" he stuttered out, tears already streaming down his face. "I didn't mean to!"

"I didn't mean to!" his uncle called back in a mocking, high-pitched voice. "Shut your trap, brat! If you didn't mean to it wouldn' have happened, would it?" he threw the small boy against the wall.

Harry kept his eyes clamped shut as he felt blood drip down the side of his head. _Hogwarts,_ he reminded himself. If he could wait until his birthday in July, maybe he could go there. It was a bit ridiculous -he knew that- to be hoping to go to a school he made up, but it was really the only hope he had.

As Uncle Vernon's foot collided with his side, he thought of flying on broomsticks.

As his uncle got out a sharpened knife from the kitchen, he fantasized about dragons.

As stab after stab came, he dreamed of having friends.

He was dimly aware of his uncle still attacking him, but the pain was slowly becoming nothing more than a dull throbbing. He thought he saw several policemen pull him away, but that couldn't be right. After all, his uncle did nothing wrong. He was to blame.

They pulled him into an ambulance, trying to say comforting words to him. It didn't work, since Harry could no longer understand what they were saying. Sleep was calling out to him, so despite the frantic voices of those around him, Harry let his eyes close.

_A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate  
>When morning comes it will be too late<em>

Harry felt himself drifting away, but it was all right.

_Through the wind and the rain he stands hard as a stone  
>In a world that he can't rise above<em>

He knew it would be fine.

But his dreams give him wings and he flies to a place  
>Where he's loved. Concrete angel<p>

He was going to Hogwarts.

A statue stands in a shaded place  
>An angel boy with an upturned face<p>

Hermione cried in Ron's arms as they stood at the funeral. The boy didn't have any friends, so his whole class was invited. "It's not your fault." Ron murmured to her. "We barely even knew him."

"B-But I saw the burns!" the girl wailed into Ron's shirt. "I should have told someone! I've read books on abuse before, so I should have realized what it was!"

Ginny sat a red rose in front of the boy's tombstone. She hadn't going told anyone, but Harry had been her first crush. She really had wanted to get to know him better, but he always avoided everyone.

She regretted never telling him.

_A name is written on a polished rock  
>A broken heart that the world forgot<em>

The ghost of Harry James Potter watched his own funeral unfold. It was a surreal feeling. Why were they crying? Hadn't he deserved what he got?

He watched carefully as Ginny gave him (well, his grave) a rose before her shoulders started shaking with sobs. He rushed to her side, although he knew she couldn't see or hear him. He just wasn't there.

"_It's okay,"_ he mumbled, covering her hand with his even though she couldn't tell. _"Let's go to Hogwarts together."_

_Through the wind and the rain he stands hard as a stone  
>In a world that he can't rise above<br>But his dreams give him wings and he flies to a place  
>Where he's loved. Concrete angel<em>


End file.
